


The Altar of Dean Winchester

by elementalv



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, Dirty Talk, Exposure, M/M, Worship, tattooing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-16
Updated: 2010-08-16
Packaged: 2017-10-11 03:16:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/107746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elementalv/pseuds/elementalv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel was made to worship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Altar of Dean Winchester

Castiel was made to worship. Literally.

He remembers his earliest days with a sense of wonder that he ever could have been so innocent, so willing to believe in a Father he’d never met and never had a chance of meeting. Back then, he’d had no room in his thoughts for anything but, _Father, oh Father. How great Thou art, how mighty Thy works. Grant me that I might continue to worship You and to tremble before Thy infinite love and wisdom_, and so on, ad infinitum.

When he was still new and fresh and in love with God, linear time held no meaning for Castiel. He lived in the eternal now, with no distinction between past, present and future, which possibly explains why he didn’t go insane when all he had in his existence was the worship of an unknown, uncaring God. Still, while he lived it, he believed it was a good life, and some days, he wishes he could go back to that innocent state. Other days, like today, he thinks, _Screw Him_, with a flare of guilty enjoyment over the blasphemy.

Days like today, Castiel bows under the weight of his own mortality and feels the progression of time much the way he imagines a condemned man ticks down the days to his execution. Days like today, Castiel wants nothing more than to hide from what he’s become, how far he’s fallen, but worshipping God is off the table and has been ever since Joshua passed on his message. On the other hand, worship was Castiel’s first skill. He believes it’s still his best skill, but if he can’t worship at the altar of Heaven, then he can find another place — another person— to worship. If some (Zachariah) cry out against the object of Castiel’s devotion, thenCastiel thinks again, _Screw him_, because Castiel has found a different, more accessible god in the physicality of Dean Winchester.

Unlike the God who created Castiel, Dean Winchester is fully present and fully aware, something Castiel can be certain of even without the litany of filth emerging from Dean’s mouth: _God, your mouth. Been wanting to fuck it forever. Knew you’d be good at this, just like you’re good at everything else. You’ve been fucking begging for it for the last year, haven’t you? That’s right, take it_. Dean says more, much more, and he tries to absorb all the words, but with Dean’s cock heavy on his tongue and his musk settling into the back of Castiel’s throat, he can barely concentrate on where to put his tongue next. In any event, it doesn’t matter if Castiel remembers the words or not, because he’s worshipping someone who is actually _there_, instead of Someone who’s become the ultimate deadbeat Dad.

With that kind of abandonment in the back of his mind, it’s easy for Castiel to kneel before Dean, easy for him to lose himself in the rhythm of sucking Dean’s cock, easy to forget just where they are until Dean puts his hand on Castiel’s naked shoulder and squeezes. The pain is a surprise — it always is — and Castiel grunts a little as Dean’s fingers dig into damaged skin, but then he moans as the sharp sting merges with his own growing arousal. That sting of pain means Castiel is still alive, still has wings, even though they’ve been etched into his back with a sharp needle and black ink. The tattoo was Dean’s idea, and Castiel finds himself attending to Dean’s cock with even more fervor than before, because when did God ever take such a personal interest in Castiel’s well-being?

Dean’s hips are moving faster now, and Castiel is doing everything he can to keep up. They may be tucked into a dark corner, but they’re still in a tattoo parlor, and Dean’s words are starting to stutter as much as his hips. It would take only a curious patron or tattoo artist to discover them back here, with Castiel half naked and Dean’s cock down his throat, and the thought of it is enough to make Castiel reach down to see to his own arousal, even as Dean finds completion.

He should stop sucking now, he really should. He’s learned over the past weeks that Dean is sensitive after orgasm, but the taste of Dean keeps Castiel’s tongue and lips moving even as Dean shoves him away. _Fuck_, Dean says (or thinks — Castiel isn’t quite certain at the moment). _You really are gagging for it, aren’t you, you poor son of a bitch._ That last part, the pity, makes Castiel believe he heard Dean’s thoughts rather than actual words. Dean knows better by now than to actively pity him, but occasionally, his thoughts trip him up.

Castiel tolerates the unspoken compassion, because Dean has given him something much more important — Dean has returned Castiel’s original purpose to him, and for that, Castiel will continue to worship Dean.


End file.
